• Curation

  Celebrating the Unsung Heroes of Literature: An Interview with Korean Literary Translators

  한국 문학의 숨은 영웅들을 위해: 한국 문학 번역가와의 인터뷰

  International Translation Day (September 30) is a global day to commemorate and reflect on the significance of translation and the role of translators. It’s thanks to translators that stories written in one language can be read on the opposite side of the world, allowing people across cultures to communicate and understand each other.

  
  

  To mark this special day, KLWAVE is making a modest effort to highlight the often-overlooked work of translators. Korean literature has been able to reach a wider global audience thanks to translators who break down language and cultural barriers, carrying stories to all corners of the world.

  
  

  To gain a deeper understanding of the complexities and challenges of literary translation, we’ve interviewed seven renowned translators: Anton Hur (English), Joo Hasun (Spanish), Han Yumi (French), Jan Henrik Dirks (German), Jeong Insoon (Russian), Kang Banghwa (Japanese), and Tian Hezi (Chinese). Through their insights, we hope to raise awareness of translators’ significant contribution to the literary world and encourage greater recognition and appreciation for their work.

  
  

  Please note that these were written interviews and have been edited to include a variety of voices.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

  
  

  
  

  There are many analogies for translators. They’re sometimes compared to ninjas—invisible and unnoticed unless they make a mistake. What’s your take?
  

  
  

  Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  If translators are ninjas, they need to be ones that possess shape-shifting ninjutsu. When I’m translating, I try my best to become as close to the author as possible, mentally and emotionally. I’ll read the author’s interviews from back when the book was published and explore their other works. It’s almost like wanting to become the author’s spiritual twin

  
  

  I believe creativity is essential when translating fiction. For example, if there’s a pun in the original text, a direct translation will often fall flat. So, I try to find a similar joke or wordplay in the target language. I first make sure I fully understand the original text, then brainstorm ideas for equivalent expressions, write it out, and finally check if the translated version achieves a similar level of humor and if it’s consistent throughout the work.

  
  

  I sense that translators' agency is gradually gaining more recognition, with readers starting to say things like, "If it's translated by this particular translator, I know I can trust it."
  

  
  

  Joo Hasun (Spanish): ): I believe translation can be considered a form of creation. As many different translations can be created for a single original text as there are translators translating that text. In that way, a translator’s work is original and unique. It is writing that fully reflects the translator’s own vocabulary, style, interpretation, and thoughts. If we compare it to a road, translation is the work of constructing a new road that connects to an existing road.

  
  

  
  

  So how would you describe the relationship between the author and the translator?
  

  
  

  Joo Hasun (Spanish):  Continuing the road analogy, the materials and construction method are the choice of the builder, in this case, the translator. However, there is something that must be strictly adhered to: the new road that the translator creates should not disregard the existing road or take shortcuts, nor should it veer off in a completely different direction. In this sense, the author and the translator are travelling companions. The author goes one step ahead, and the translator follows. But they’re on different paths. The decisions they must make at each moment cannot be the same, and they have different literary, lexical, and stylistic resources at their disposal. But what is important is that they are in it together as companions walking in the same direction.

  
  

  Han Yumi (French):  A translator must indeed know how to stay in the background. In that sense, they are like the author’s ghost or shadow. But at the same time, they need to be constantly present, even down to the smallest comma. In this sense, they’re more like the author’s guardian angel, accompanying them everywhere, perched on their shoulder, invisible to the reader’s eyes.

  
  

  But is the translator really always invisible? They can be noticed in two ways. Through the creativity of their word choices, their phrasing, their sense of style, and their mastery of language registers (making people say, “It feels like it was always written in French!”). Or, they might stand out for the wrong reasons: awkward wording, clinging too closely to Korean expressions, weak logical connections or flat dialogue (and people will just say, “This is poorly translated.”).

  
  

  Translating a literary text is like interpreting a musical score; you first need to decipher it note by note, analyze its structure, rhythm, and harmony . . . Then it’s up to us, translators, to perform it, using our instrument, as a piece intended for another language and culture. We need to play it, and play it well. But to extend the metaphor, how can we transcribe a “haegeum sanjo” without turning it into a “violin sonata”? And yet, we still have to “translate” it.

  
  

  To me, a musician adapting a piece as faithfully as possible to their instrument mirrors what our fellow translators do with Korean literature across the world. And we must remember that every performer is unique—translation is like a concert, an act of “reinventing” the score.

  
  

  
  

  Translators face countless decisions throughout the translation process, and their choices can significantly shape the way a story is told. 
  

  
  

  Anton Hur (English):  A translator can make or break a book, and that doesn’t depend on being “invisible,” whatever that means. A translator can alter the narrative distance between the reader and the characters of a book, changing the intimacy level of a work completely. Good translators are deep readers who frequently discover things about the text that lay readers or critics often do not. Quite often I’ve come up with readings the author themselves were not aware of which they would then incorporate into subsequent editions of the source material. The work of a translator is extremely visible, it is literally every single word of the target language edition, and to pretend this isn’t the work of the translator is disingenuous and vile. Also, ninjas are evil and I am good.

  
  

  Jan Dirks (German):  In my opinion, the basis of all sincere translation work is empathy, i.e., the ability to understand thoughts and feelings of other people, the spirit of other cultures and forms of expression in other languages. (This, by the way, is something AI will never be able to do.) In my view, the so-called “creativity of the translator” is only ever the translator’s tool for expressing the spirit of the original work. Creativity per se is not necessarily a desirable quality in translations. The undisputed fact that every perception is necessarily subjective and that every translation inevitably creates something new should not be used as an excuse to stop struggling with the original text. Insofar as translation is a matter of recreating something given, I do not regard it as an art, but as a craft, whereby linguistic artistry is, of course, an indispensable part of the translator’s tools of the trade.

  
  

  
  

  What motivates you to translate? Do you have a mission as a translator? 
  

  
  

  Jan Dirks (German): My ultimate mission as a literary translator is—Lo and behold!—the translation of literature. No more, no less. Of course, there may be some pleasant side effects: “mediation between cultures,” “international dissemination of good literature” or an occasional “moment of happiness or enlightenment” for the foreign reader. Who knows? But these are not the things I am dealing with when I do my work.

  
  

  What motivates me in my work is the technical challenge and the intellectual pleasure of translating sentence after sentence from the beautiful Korean language into my beloved mother tongue.

  
  

  Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I believe all humans share common ground, regardless of their country, history, or social background. I want to be a translator who can evoke emotions in readers that they may not have been aware of due to their different upbringing. 

  
  

  There are countless works in the world, each containing its own unique universe. I’m grateful to have been born into a world with literature, and I find joy in introducing people to the diverse worlds within these works.

  
  

  Joo Hasun:  I translate because it’s fun. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I don’t have any grand motivation or aspirations. The job is incredibly challenging at times, but when I finish one project and get commissioned to translate another, I find myself excited all over again. There’s a part of me that gets thrilled imagining how to translate while reading a book. I think I continue to translate because of that excitement and thrill.

  
  

  Jeong Insoon (Russian):  Thirty years ago, while studying abroad at Moscow University I lived in a dorm for four years, where someone often played loud music. It was annoying, but I could understand them to some extent. They just wanted to share the music they liked with others, nothing to be overly critical about. The reason I translate now is similar to the feelings of that student who played loud music: I want to share the emotions I feel while reading Korean literature with others.

  
  

  Recently, I’ve gained another motivation. In Russia, most Korean literature enters through Western countries, translated first into English and then into Russian. This often leads to a loss of the original charm and meaning. I dream of introducing Korean authors directly to Russian readers before they are filtered through Western translations.

  
  

  Anton Hur (English):  What mission? I don’t have a mission. I despise evangelical missionaries and I’m not an astronaut. Nothing motivates me. I am very lazy and unmotivated and I hate sitting down to work every day. Nothing I do has anything to do with motivation or being motivated. 

  
  

  
  

  How do you define success as a translator? 
  

  
  

  Joo Hasun (Spanish):  The number of works translated, sales, good reviews, awards—they are all important. But do they mean you’ve succeeded as a translator? I’m not so sure about that. What does success as a translator mean? I think that each and every book I translate is one of my small successes as a translator. The word “success” is too heavy, too macro, and I don’t really know what it means, but the small successes of each day certainly mean a lot to me. When the translation of a page I set out to finish today turned out relatively nice and clean. When I find the perfect expression in the target language for a sentence I’ve been struggling with for a long time. When I read a nice review of my translation on social media. And when the author DMs me to thank me for my translation. It’s these daily, unexpected, micro-successes that collectively enrich my life as a translator, and I wonder if that enrichment is what makes me successful as a translator.

  
  

  Anton Hur (English): People are constantly telling me that I’m “successful,” which I find hilarious. If I wanted “success,” I would not be working in the book industry, certainly not with a law degree and my extremely commercial level of bilingualism. I don’t think about success. I’m busy. And lazy.
  

  
  

  Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I think I could say I’ve succeeded as a translator if my translation conveys the work well and elicits empathy from readers. Another thing is if I find myself still reflecting on past translations in the future. The success I envision is on the opposite end of completion. Just as authors grow and change repeatedly, I think translators, as expressive individuals, should grow and always try new things. My goal is to never stop growing.

  
  

  
  

  So it’s not about the number of works you’ve published or how many copies you’ve sold —there’s something more special. 
  

  
  

  Han Yumi (French):  That’s right. In the long run, my main goal is to carve out a place in the literary world, so that French readers can discover reliable critical editions of essential Korean literature. Sometimes, we dream that we are working for posterity. Let’s just say we are trying to find our place.

  
  

  Tian Hezi (Chinese):  Being also a reader who loves Korean literature, I would like nothing more as a translator than to be able to convey to Chinese readers the same emotions I feel when I read Korean literature, the wonderful expressions, thought-provoking issues, and the diversity and boundlessness of its themes.

  
  

  
  

  What is the most rewarding aspect of being a translator?
  

  
  

  Han Yumi (French):  One of my most moving experiences, thanks to the unique privilege translators have of connecting with the audience, was when a spectator, deeply moved by a pansori performance I had subtitled, approached me afterward and simply said, “Thank you for existing.” Isn’t that the ultimate joy for a translator? It makes you want to say, “Mission accomplished.”

  
  

  
  

  “So, we try, with humility but also with great tenacity, to always, no matter what, find a solution.”

  
  

  
  

  
  

  How do you typically choose the works you translate?
  

  
  

  Jan Dirks (German):  Literature that I consider worth translating must fulfil two criteria above all: It must deal seriously and sincerely with the human soul, that is, with what people feel and think. And it must be convincing in its linguistic and aesthetic form. Everything else (exciting plot, social message, etc.) is rather secondary for me personally.

  
  

  Han Yumi (French):  There’s always a bit of chance, encounters, and surprises involved. But the key factor is always our own “joy of reading,” which turns into the desire to “share that joy” with others, inviting readers into works they wouldn’t otherwise be able to experience.

  
  

  Jeong Insoon (Russian):  The works I translate are sometimes determined by myself, and sometimes requested by publishers. When I decide on the book, the criteria are that 1) it should be either really fun or deeply resonate with me, 2) it should have universal themes and subjects that people around the world can relate to, and 3) it should have clean and concise writing with minimal superfluous elements.

  
  

  Tian Hezi (Chinese):  I strive for clear and fluent language, so no matter how much I love a work, if it deviates significantly from my preferred style, I think I’ll have a hard time translating it. For instance, texts that are heavy on metaphors, modifiers, and long, convoluted sentences are still difficult for me.

  
  

  Translating Han Kang’s works was honestly very challenging. Especially Greek Lessons, which is a novel that delves deeply into the protagonist’s inner world and contains many delicate sensory descriptions and abstract symbolism. When translating it, my primary concern was accurately conveying the overall atmosphere and ensuring that my understanding of the work was correct.

  
  

  Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I focus on introducing works that are compelling and persuasive. As a translator, it’s important to convince editors of a work’s merits, but it’s also crucial to be able to articulate clearly what makes the piece interesting.

  
  

  
  

  Were there times when you faced a passage that felt almost untranslatable, leaving you feeling discouraged or defeated? Conversely, is there a translation that is particularly memorable for how successfully you dealt with the challenges?
  

  
  

  Anton Hur (English):  No, I have never felt “defeated” by an “untranslatable” phrase or passage. I am, it should be obvious at this point in my career, very good at translating, it’s very easy for me. I feel defeated by things outside of translation. I feel defeated by bureaucracy. I feel defeated by falling levels of funding for translators. I feel defeated by Korean rightsholders who are hostile to translators for no good reason. I have had some awful, soul-crushing experiences as a translator that have nothing to do with translation itself and wanted many times to leave literary translation and go back to translating contracts and exhibition pamphlets and simultaneous interpreting. It’s only last year when things began to improve when my agent, Safae El-Ouahabi, agreed to take on my translation paperwork. If she ever fires me as a client, I will quit publishing. Becoming a literary translator is hard, but being a literary translator is even harder.

  
  

  Jan Dirks (German):  First of all, it is never the case that something is completely translatable or completely untranslatable. With every sentence, you always choose aspects that you consider important. Sometimes it is about the purely factual content, sometimes it is about the tone, sometimes it is about a single word.

  
  

  Often, the problems of translation are extremely specific. One particularly tricky passage I still remember was in the book Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop by Hwang Bo-reum. In that passage, two characters spend quite a while talking about certain nuances of Korean grammar. It was particularly about the word gidarida, which means ‘to wait.’The protagonist used the expression gidaryeojida (a passive construction) instead, which, in the given context, was incorrect. So I had to find an equivalent in German that had to do with ‘waiting’ and might also be used incorrectly in everyday German. 

  
  

  Unfortunately—no, wait, fortunately! Ninjas have to remain invisible—almost nobody who reads the passage in German will realize how much the translator has racked his brains at this point and what an ingenious solution he has found . . .

  
  

  Jeong Insoon (Russian):  I was translating writer Kim Do-yeon’s Riding Home with a Bull in which the protagonist happens to come across a temple called Mabsosa. Conveying the author’s intended name of the temple in Russian was quite challenging. Mabso-sa is a name humorously created by combining a pure Korean exclamation (which means “Oh my God!”) with the common Chinese character suffix “-sa,” which is typically used for temple names. It took almost a month of collaboration with my Russian co-translator to come up with a satisfying translation. In the end, we translated it as “бог мой храм.” The first word means “god,” the second means “my,” and the third means “temple,” or it could also mean “church.” So, “My God!” in Russian corresponds to the Korean exclamation “Mabsosa!”and the final word means “temple,” making it a very appropriate translation.

  
  

  
  

  Each language has its unique way of expression. Were there any difficulties stemming from language structure or vocabulary?
  

  
  

  Tian Hezi (Chinese):  When I had to translate the writings of the character Shim Sisun from the novel From Sisun by Chung Serang, I worked hard to capture the tone of a woman in her forties to fifties. Sisun is an artist and an intellectual, and is outgoing. Although I haven’t experienced being in my forties yet, I translated her writings in a formal literary style, limiting the use of colloquial filler words and particles like ‘了’ (le), ‘的’ (de), and ‘啊’ (a). 

  
  

  On the other hand, Han Kang’s Greek Lessons contains many philosophical speculations and reflections on God that are Western in nature. I had to read philosophical books to imitate the vocabulary and grammar.

  
  

  When I reflect on the age, personality, profession, and experiences of the characters in the book, I often feel like I’m “channeling” or “becoming possessed by” the character each time I translate.

  
  

  Han Yumi (French):  There’s translation theory (with its grand universal principles), but there’s also the practical side (each text has its own unique challenges!). Every major work requires specific solutions, and some texts are particularly daunting. 

  
  

  With pansori, you have to find French rhythms that capture the musicality of the text, cultural references that need to be accessible without notes (though you may include comments at the end of the performance), proverbs that don’t sound too cliché while not being literal translations (which would make them incomprehensible), onomatopoeias, dialect expressions (saturi), and then jokes and wordplay, which demand a lot of care and creativity. Success means making people cry where they’re supposed to cry and laugh where they’re supposed to laugh! In a way, the footnote that says “untranslatable wordplay” is like the translator’s badge of shame, the sign that says, “I failed.”

  
  

  So, we try, with humility but also with great tenacity, to always, no matter what, find a solution. Sometimes the challenge starts right with the title, especially when it contains a double meaning: this was the case with Kim Hoon’s Hwajang, which we published with Picquier. Depending on how the word is written in Chinese characters, it can mean “cremation” or “makeup.” This double meaning is central to the story, so we chose the title En beauté, which ties together the French expressions “finir en beauté” (“to end on a high note,” for the cremation aspect) and “être en beauté” (“to look beautiful,” for cosmetics). 

  
  

  
  

  Are there any Korean books not yet translated that you’d like to recommend to readers in your working language? 
  

  
  

  Jeong Insoon (Russian):  I’d like to recommend The Gray Man by Kim Dong-sik. Kim’s works don’t attempt to deeply understand or analyze the inner workings of the characters. He simply narrates events in an easy and concise style and describes people’s reactions to these events. Through his works, I've had the opportunity to reflect on myself and human nature. 

  
  

  Tian Hezi (Chinese):  I really like Goodbye, Drunkard by Kwon Yeo-sun. I think Kwon is one of the best novelists in Korea. Behind her slightly crazy and pathological characters, there is always a story that touches the reader’s heart. Personally, I think Kwon Yeo-sun is the novelist who best writes about the Korean concept of ‘jeong’ (deep affection or attachment).

  
  

  Joo Hasun (Spanish):  The Last of Seven Years by Kim Yeonsu is a novel I love and wish more people would read. This book is particularly moving, with many moments that stir the heart. It tells the story of Baek Seok, a poet who is an essential figure in Korean poetry, and his life—both known and speculated—after he went to North Korea. It’s also a narrative about how an era impacts an individual, an artist—the freedom it grants or the pressure it exerts, and the scars it leaves behind. If twentieth-century Soviet composer Shostakovich lived in fear every night of being purged under Stalin’s regime, taking an ambiguous position between collaborator and dissident, Baek Seok existed in a similar way on the Korean Peninsula during the same century.

  
  

  Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I recommend Altar of the Moon by Sim Yunkyung. It’s an excellent work that revives the concept of ‘han’ in modern Korean literature by unraveling the tragedy that occurs when human desires reach their peak while depicting the love and hatred of a family. I’m confident it will help those interested in Korean content gain a fundamental understanding.

  
  

  Jan Dirks (German): There are, of course, some authors whose works are close to my heart as a translator. Jung Young Moon, a master of absurd humor who, with his unmistakable style, uses deliberate linguistic hyper-precision to reveal the very openness and vagueness of language, Bae Suah, who, in an intuitive way, creates fascinating, dream-like atmospheres in her works.
  

  
  

  Han Yumi (French): In France, there are some translations of key works from the 1920s–30s, but it’s rare to find those written by Korean women during this period of Japanese occupation. I’m particularly drawn to Kang Kyeong-ae (1906–1943), who died far too young but tackled themes of poverty under Japanese rule and the harsh realities faced by women with great intensity. (See Jihachon (Underground Village) and Sogeum (Salt), for example).

  
  

  The key, though, is to stay committed over time—to keep cultivating the cultural landscape, planting seeds, and eventually reaping the fruits. This requires a consistent editorial strategy, and we’re deeply grateful to everyone who has supported and encouraged us over the years. 

  After all, translation is never a solitary endeavor!

  
  

  
  

  Any final words as we wrap up?
  

  
  

  Anton Hur (English):  I’m astonished by emerging translators coming up to me and asking me what they should work on. If you have to ask someone that, you should not be a literary translator. You should be reading widely and constantly, you should be overflowing with books you want to work on and agonizing over which to choose. I am mystified by translators who say they want to be literary translators but do not read literature and need to be told what to be interested in. And whether a work is “worthy of wider international recognition” depends wholly on the alchemical interaction between an author and the translator who discovers them. No one is entitled to that, no writer is born deserving that.

  
  

  
  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

  
  

  
  

  Through our conversations with these seven accomplished translators, we’ve gained valuable insights into their craft and calling. We hope this interview provides readers around the globe with a deeper appreciation for the art of translation and the pivotal role translators play in bringing Korean literature to international audiences. As these translators continue to break down barriers, they pave the way for greater cultural understanding and literary exchange. Thank you, dear translators. 

  
  

  Happy International Translation Day!
  

  
  

  
  

  *The interviews were conducted in Korean, English, and French. 

  Korean–English translation by Joheun Lee, Si-Hyun Kim, and Snigdha Gupta

  English–Korean translation by Bo Kyong Kwak

  French-English translation by Benoît Di Pascale

  

• Curation

  Summer's Last Hurrah: New Book Releases for July and August

  뜨거웠던 여름을 보내주며! 7~8월 신간 도서입니다

  KLWAVE introduces international readers to various works of Korean literature. “New Releases” showcases works that have been published between July and August 2024, selected by Kyobo Book Centre as “Book of the Month” and by Aladin as “Magician’s Choice.”

  
  

  The endless cicada cries of mid-summer have faded into the soft hum of insects, and the air, once thick with heat, now carries a cooling breeze. The blazing sun of summer has passed, and with it, autumn gently arrives. Though we may feel a tinge of regret as summer slips away, we know that after autumn and winter, another summer will come again. Like the changing of seasons, our lives move in cycles. 

  
  

  The new books of July and August beautifully reflect this rhythm. In these pages, both well-established authors from Korea and abroad, as well as emerging voices in Korean literature, capture the intricacies of life from their unique perspectives. They offer words that continue to draw us in, tenderly soothing the hearts of readers.

  
  

  Shin Yong-mok's poetry collection, Because We Exist in an Accidental Future, speaks of a future that can only be reached by living fully in the present moment. Bae Su-ah’s novel, Whisper Sunken Garden, chases after the elusive fragments of memory, bringing forgotten emotions to the surface, as it probes deeply into the inner world of humans.

  
  

  Then there are also those novels that critique Korean society with a knife’s edge. Author Cheong YE, who has garnered attention by winning several major literary awards in Korea, explores the idea of freeing oneself from self-censorship in the sci-fi mystery Orange and the Bread Knife. Meanwhile, Ha Seung-min’s Melanin, which unanimously won the Hankyoreh Literature Award, tackles the invisible yet pervasive gaze of discrimination through the story of a mixed-race boy of Korean and Vietnamese descent.

  
  

  These are stories that linger, offering insights into the cycles of our lives, much like the seasons that come and go.

  
  

  Renowned internationally for Dollargut Dream Department Store, author Lee Miye delineates a society shaped by everyday selfishness in her latest work Pantry. In Don’t Call Me Kind, Kim Kang offers profound insight into the duality of our existence. Jeong You-jeong, who has enchanted readers worldwide with her unique universe, continues her exploration of human desire in Eternal Heaven, the second book in her trilogy following Perfect Happiness, racing towards the ultimate extremes of human yearning.

  
  

  This summer has seen an outpouring of essay collections. Boldly stepping away from the monotony of daily life, Kim Min-cheol chronicles her post-resignation journey through Paris in her travel essay A Shapeless Form of Life. In The Merry Elder, Lee Ok-sun’s debut collection of essays, we are graced with the wisdom of a grandmother who offers life lessons we’ve long awaited. Lee's daughter, Kim Ha-na, and her partner Hwang Sun-woo, together released Two Women Living Together, a work that challenges and redefines the conventional structure of family in Korea.

  
  

  Brimming with Kim Youngmin's characteristic wit, Light Confessions teaches us how to maintain peace of mind amidst the imperfections of life. Lee Seung-U, who captivated global readers with Quentin, shares his method for understanding both the self and the world through intense, immersive reading in his literary essay collection, A Quiet Reading, distilled from 43 years as a novelist. Finally, Han Jeongwon’s My Fourth-Favorite Season is a poignant reflection, helping us swallow the bittersweet pill of the end of summer. This summer, as we look back at the three seasons passed, how have we changed?

  
  

  
  

  Translated by Snigdha Gupta snigdhagupta9@gmail.com

  
  

  Snigdha is a literary/academic translator residing in Korea. An ex-fellow of KLTI and a Korean Government scholar, Snigdha bridges gaps not only through her Korean to English translations, but also as a full-time communication specialist in the government sector.

  

• Curation

  No More Damsels in Distress: Women Protagonists Redefining Thriller and Horror

  비련의 여주인공은 가라! 스릴러와 호러 이끄는 여성들

  Korean society has always been violent and cruel to women. While male chauvinism prevails worldwide, the Korean patriarchy rooted in Confucianism is particularly harsh, as evidenced by the fact that most of the unjustly murdered ghosts in Korean folk tales are women. However, even the women who become ghosts that scare the life out of us are, in fact, “sad girls in need of a Prince Charming.” It is always a man of high status who resolves the problem that has caused the ghosts’ anger and sorrow, and male chauvinism dominated Korean women’s desire even until recently.

  
  

  In the West, on the other hand, a woman from mythology abandoned all her filial duty and maternal love for her children and brandished her rage as brutally as any male villain. Medea, a princess of Colchis, fell in love with the Greek hero Jason at first sight and betrayed her father. After she married Jason, she had her two daughters tear her uncle into pieces to throne her husband. But when the king of Corinth, where they were in exile, offers Jason his throne on the condition that he marry his daughter, Jason accepts and abandons Medea, which unleashes her fury. She poisons Jason’s new wife, sets fire to the Corinthian palace, and kills her and Jason’s two sons with her own hands.

  
  

  The novels we introduce here are not as brutal as Medea, who evolves from a lover into the “revenge incarnate,” but they feature strong women who are disenchanted with love and refuse to give in to or compromise with men. There emerged a new genre of “feminist family thriller” that depicts the fears and anxieties of women in a patriarchal society, featuring women who are honest about their desires, uninhibited, unharmed, and unafraid to commit bad things. With such bold ideas as “a teddy bear with a hatchet” and “a town that makes a living from serial killings,” it’s refreshing to see empowered women that are no longer just damsels in distress leading thriller and horror novels.

  
  

  Abduction Day by Jeong Hai-yeon, Sigongsa (2019)

  
  

  Myeongjun is a divorced man in his 30s struggling to make ends meet. A little slow-witted but with a big heart, he cherishes his young daughter, his only hope. But his daughter is sick with leukemia and requires a fortune for hospitalization and surgery. Myeongjun uses up even his rent deposit to pay for her treatment, and in the end, his ex-wife persuades him to kidnap Rohee, a girl from a wealthy family. On his way to kidnap her, he accidentally causes a car accident, and the child he runs over is the very girl he was trying to kidnap. Rohee loses her memory of the accident and thinks of Myeongjun as her father, and while Myeongjun tries to return her to her parents, the phone call doesn’t go through. When Myeongjun goes to spy on Rohee’s house, he runs into Rohee’s parents being carried out as corpses. Depicting the strange companionship between Rohee, a genius girl who eventually realizes who Myeongjun really is, and Myeongjun, a naive adult, for solving the mystery, Abduction Day was also made into a TV series.

  
  

  White Horse by Kang Hwa Gil, Munhakdongne (2020)

  
  

  This short story collection contains seven works, including Blessings, Gawon, and White Horse. Blessings depicts the suspenseful patriarchal power relationship experienced by a daughter-in-law attending her father-in-law’s first chesa ceremony after her marriage. Gawon tells the story of a granddaughter who discovers the secrets hidden between her cruel grandmother and her affectionate grandfather, while the title piece of the collection White Horse portrays the experiences of a writer in a slump staying in a mysterious cabin deep in the mountains. The critics of these thrillers and horror stories named them “feminist family thrillers.” Thrillers bring horror to the readers through the cognitive gap between what they know and what they don’t, but in a feminist family thriller, it is the gender-based power difference that drives the gap in perception. The fact that women prepare food for the dead and share food left over from the ghosts with the whole family for blessings is a thriller or horror in and of itself; isn’t the daily life of women living under the violence of patriarchy a thriller, the author asks.

  
  

  Burning Heart by Lee Doo-on, ehbook (2020)

  
  

  What if there is a town that made a living off of serial killings? A small rural village across a barren, arid plain realizes that serial killings are quite lucrative and holds a festival to showcase murder cases. The town used to be a rest stop for truck drivers, but after a highway had been constructed, drivers simply passed through, depriving the town of its main source of income. But when six bodies are found on the plains, the small town becomes famous as the site of serial murders, attracting countless visitors. The town’s annual festival turns into a psychotic tourist attraction showcasing the murders. Just as the frenzy of murder tourism is beginning to wane, a new murder occurs, and a young girl risks her life to find the killer. The novel unfurls a dark and dreamy story of a town corrupted by the need to make a living.

  
  

  Teddy Bears Never Die by Cho Yeeun, Safehouse (2023)

  
  

  The time is 2025, and a massive redevelopment project completely transformed the city of Yamu. Three years ago, nine people were killed after consuming poisoned rice cakes in a terrorist attack on a high-end apartment complex. Hwayeong, a young girl who lost her mother in the incident, sets a goal of earning 20 million won to avenge the death. Living in a dingy apartment building with a nickname “Yamu’s drain hole” for cheap rent, Hwayeong is blackmailed into taking part in “fishing” for money using youth like herself as baits, but it is not until she ends up in an inn that she realizes she isn’t a bait for a robbery but a victim of human trafficking. It is none other than a teddy bear that saves Hwayeong from a near-death crisis—it swings a hatchet at a man and brings him down! The bear, which her mother used to put together as her side job, is now possessed by Doha, a boy Hwayeong’s age who has lost his body. Hwayeong and Doha help each other as they embark on an adventure in search of hope and a happy ending.

  
  

  To Paradise with Pale Hands by Park Young, ehbook (2023)

  
  

  Yeon-woo is a police officer who gets urgently dispatched to a murder case in the port city of Sunyang, Gangwon-do, on the first day of the new year. He is accompanied by his former partner and his junior, Sang-hyuk. The case victim is Dr. Cha Yo-han, the director of Eden General Hospital, whom the locals trusted and respected. Strangely, Dr. Cha was scheduled to terminate his life-sustaining treatment that day; he had been brutally murdered just hours before his planned death. Meanwhile, Do-jin, a lawyer and the son of Dr. Cha, is requested to defend Yoo Min-hee, a nurse who has become a suspect in the murder. He travels back against his will to his hometown of Sunyang where he pledged never to return, as he is threatened with revealing the truth of a case 15 years ago if he refuses to defend her. Only when Do-jin arrives in Sunyang does he realize his father is the victim. What happened in the city 15 years ago on “that day?”

  
  

  Written by Choi Jaebong

  
  

  Choi worked as a literary journalist at the Hankyoreh newspaper from 1992 to 2022. He has written books such as Inquiry: How Writers Work, Stories Live Long, Writers of the Mirror World, and translated works such as Elegy for Earth, Pushcart’s Complete Rotten Reviews, and Journey to the beginning (Egar Snow’s memoir). After retiring in 2022, he has been working as a freelance senior journalist, writing articles on literature and publishing.

  
  

  Translated by Joheun Lee joheunlee@gmail.com

  
  

  Joheun Lee (Jo) is a literary translator from Korea. She was selected in the 2023 and 2024 Translation Academy Night Courses from LTI Korea, the American Literary Translators Association's inaugural Building Our Future workshop for emerging BIPOC translators, and the 2023-24 National Centre for Writing's Emerging Translator Mentorship for Korean-English translation.

  A long-time fan of K-pop and many other subcultures, she finds herself drawn to works on related topics and speculative fiction, especially by women and queer writers. A UX Designer by day, Jo now lives with her partner and three cats in Shanghai, China.

  

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  Friendship Put to the Test of Time

  시간의 시험대 위에 놓인 우정

  In his main book, Essais, Michel de Montaigne discusses the traits and values of friendship. The way he emphasizes the advantages of friendship over love, in particular, is interesting. According to Montaigne, unlike the frantic desire of love, friendship is “temperate and equal, a constant established heat, all gentle and smooth.” It is regrettable that Montaigne, a man from the 16th-century, excluded women from those who enjoy friendship, but his explanation of the attributes and virtues inherent in friendship is quite persuasive.

  
  

  Friendships are often developed during one’s childhood or at a young age. This is because human relationships at that time are likely to be relatively pure and unaffected by self-interest. This explains why, as time goes by, those who are weary of the harsh reality of our society long for the pure and warm embrace of friendship.

  
  

  The novels we introduce here mostly deal with the themes of enduring and changing friendships over the course of time, as well as loss and recovery. In this regard, it can be said that time serves as a measure of the sincerity of friendship. It is also noteworthy that the motif of travel is used in multiple works as a means to reaffirm or regain friendship. Travel involves stepping out of your comfort zone and into an unfamiliar time and space. In this experience of unfamiliarity, we may rediscover the pure value of friendship that we may have forgotten for a while. Finally, I would like to tell Mr. Montaigne that the novels by five women writers all celebrate the friendship of their female characters.

  
  

  Kim Keum Hee, Dear Bokja, Munhakdongne Publishing Corp., 2020

  
  

  Set in Gogori, an annexed island of Jeju, the novel follows the friendship and the ups and downs of two female protagonists over a period of 20 years. The 13-year-old girl Yeong Chorong, who was sent to her aunt’s after her parents' business failed, is welcomed with friendliness by her peer Bokja. Their fresh and pure friendship, however, breaks due to a small misunderstanding, and time flies without them resolving their issue and healing their wounds. Fast forward twenty years, and Yeong Chorong, now a judge that moved to Jeju, is assigned to a case in which Bokja is the victim. Yeong Chorong tries to use her position to help Bokja, but when things go awry and Bokja asks to avoid the trial, now Yeong Chorong feels hurt. The novel concludes with a letter from Yeong Chorong that begins, "Dear my wise friend Bokja," moving beyond the wall of mutual wounds and guilt toward the possibility of repairing their broken friendship, with a brightly open ending.

  
  

  Cho Nam-joo, Tangerine Green, Munhakdongne Publishing Corp., 2020

  
  

  Four sixteen-year-old girls go on a friendship trip to Jeju Island. Dayun, Soran, Haein, and Eunji, who met at a film club and became best friends. On the last day of their trip, they make a vow to apply to the same high school, write their promise on a piece of paper, and bury it in a time capsule. They agree that only those who keep the promise can return to dig it up a year and a half later. Will these four friends come back to reopen the capsule containing their vow? A YA novel by Cho Nam-joo, the author of Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. It tells the story of four protagonists in their own voices. It depicts each child growing up firmly amid their own circumstances and pains, likening their stories to the nature of a mandarin. The author’s encouragements for those going through a period of growth, feels reassuring. “We can take time to find the answer, since we’re still growing up.”

  
  

  Lee Jooran, Happy End, Changbi Publishers, 2023

  
  

  Two and a half years after their breakup following a squabble, Wongyeong reaches out to Giju, who used to be her best friend. Wongyeong used to be like Giju because she didn’t have to explain or justify everything to her, nor worry about revealing her vulnerabilities. Giju’s decision to meet with Wongyeong is described as “the first step toward confronting a relationship that is either already screwed up or is about to be completely screwed up.” Somehow, Mr. Jang, her co-worker, ends up accompanying her on this journey. On her way to find Wongyeong, Giju deviates from her planned route and stops at an unexpected place, where she encounters the wrong people. When she finally reaches Wongyeong, she receives unexpected news. However, the message—that the kindness, comfort, and support she encounters during detours and delays come together to create a true “happy end”—is heartwarming.

  
  

  Kim Yi-seol, While We Are Relieved, Jamobook, 2024

  
  

  Three women nearing the age of 50 embark on a trip to Gangneung, a city on the eastern coast of Korea. These longtime friends, who haven’t seen each other for various personal reasons have reunited for this special occasion. Their youthful days, once so bright yet felt burdensome, have passed, and now they’ve reached an age when they have to face concerns such as urinary incontinence, high blood pressure, hair loss, and depression.” Migyeong, who’s single and cares for her aging mother; Jeongeun, who juggles two jobs due to financial difficulties; and Nanju, a relatively wealthy housewife, clash and squabble due to their differing circumstances and experiences. But knowing that “there may never be another day for the three to get together like this,” they make the most of their time together, drinking and enjoying themselves while easing each other’s pain and disappointment.

  
  

  Han Soo-yeong, In the Basil Garden, Gang, 2023

  
  

  There are nine short stories in Han Soo-yeong's collection of novels, In the Basil Garden. Among them, short story “Pi(π)” and the title story “In the Basil Garden” tell the story of wounds, relationships, change, and maturity, contrasting their past college years with their present middle age, much like a series. The title story “In the Basil Garden” features three women, Gijeong, Ihyeon, and Hyeyeong, who met about 30 years ago in college and became lifelong friends. They gather at the house of Gijeong, who is in her early fifties, still unmarried, and lives alone, to reminisce about their distant and recent memories while sharing food and drinks. Probably under the influence of alcohol, disputes arise over trivial matters, leading to "suspicion and confusion," as well as a sudden, destructive impulse to destroy everything. However, in the novel’s final scene, “the sound of wrong bells” from a Buddhist temple in Gijeong’s neighborhood “surrounds the three friends,” making them suddenly realize how they have been “influenced by one another,” and teaching us how comfortable a mature friendship can be.

  
  

  Written by Choi Jaebong

  
  

  Choi worked as a literary journalist at the Hankyoreh newspaper from 1992 to 2022. He has written books such as Inquiry: How Writers Work, Stories Live Long, Writers of the Mirror World, and translated works such as Elegy for Earth, Pushcart’s Complete Rotten Reviews, and Journey to the beginning (Egar Snow’s memoir). After retiring in 2022, he has been working as a freelance senior journalist, writing articles on literature and publishing.

  
  

  Translated by Jasmine Jeemin Lee jeeminjlee@naver.com

  
  

  Jasmine Jeemin Lee is a professional translator based in Korea. Born in Texas, she grew up moving back and forth between Korea and the U.S. She earned her BA in International Studies from Ewha Womans University and graduated from its Graduate School of Translation and Interpretation. She won the 2019 Korea Times Modern Literature Translation Award and has since translated a diverse genre of Korean works into English. Her book-length translations include Lee Hyugjin’s Terms of Love (Sarang-ŭi ihae) and Lee Suyeon’s Two Friends on My Shoulders.
  

  

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  The wind that moves minds of readers around the world: Korean literature bestsellers for the second quarter of 2024

  전 세계 독자의 마음을 움직이는 바람, 2024년 2분기 한국문학 베스트셀러를 만나보세요.

  「KLWAVE features content to introduce a diverse range of Korean literature to overseas readers. This year, we will introduce the best-selling Korean literature every quarter. KLWAVE’s second-quarter best sellers were selected based on the comprehensive consideration of the list of best-selling books provided by three Korean bookstore chains and the list of most borrowed books provided by the Korean Library Association from April to June 2024. 」
  

  
  

  The trend of Korean literature in the first half of 2024 can be defined as “the power of steadiness.” Since the beginning of this year, the bestseller shelves in bookstores and libraries have been stocked with books published more than a decade ago, a rare sight and a pleasant surprise. As books that share the wisdom of timeless and insightful philosophers have been popular in the Korean book market since last year, this year, readers have chosen timeless classics in Korean literature. Although the number of newly published novels and sales thereof slowed down compared to 2022 and 2023, there were new releases by bestselling authors who have been recognized in overseas markets and have begun to attract the attention of Korean readers, garnering their own “fandom.”
  

  
  

  Yang Gui-ja’s Contradiction, a bestseller when it was published in 1998, has been ranked No. 1 on the bestseller list for the first half of 2024, nearly 30 years after its first release. Its readers agree that it makes them realize different meanings and feel new emotions as they read it over and over as time goes by. In other words, it is a steady-seller that readers in their twenties revisit in their thirties, and those in their thirties re-read in their forties. Choi Jin-young’s Proof of Gu, published in 2015, has also recently gained attention from readers in their twenties and thirties and has been ranked No. 8 on the bestseller list, climbing back up the sales chart. Both books have been steadily recommended on online channels and platforms such as influencers and book YouTubers and went viral.

  
  

  It is also noteworthy that Gu Byeong-mo’s book Bruised Fruit , which was published in 2018, also made the list. The book deals with the conflicts and inner thoughts of a female killer in her sixties, and its immersive storyline garnered attention not only in the Korean market but also overseas, selling rights to 11 countries in 2022. Recently, there has been news of domestic musical and movie productions based on the novel, renewing the attention to the original novel. This is deemed a positive sign for the expansion of IP (Intellectual Property) in Korean literature; solid themes of proven works are being adapted into TV series, movies, plays, webtoons, and other cultural means, creating a virtuous cycle of piquing the interest to their original works. As an example, the recently released and bestselling Children of the Rune - Blooded Vol. 7 is the new book in the fantasy series Children of the Rune by Jeon Min-hee, which has also been recently released as a webtoon of the same title.

  
  

  Along with the global interest in K-culture, including TV dramas, movies, and music, Korean literature is also experiencing a rise in new trends. Authors and works with guaranteed literary quality have been nominated for major overseas literary awards and highlighted by overseas media, signaling the rise of Korean literature. Hwang Sok-yong’s Mater 2-10, which reached the 14th place on the bestseller list, was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize this year, raising Korean readers’ interest once again. Through the story of three generations of railroad workers, the book traces the history of South Korea from the Japanese colonial period to the post-liberation and the present day. Starting with Han Kang’s The Vegetarian , a winner of the International Booker Prize in 2015, Korean publications such as Bora Chung’s Cursed Bunny and Cheon Myeong-kwan’s Whale have been gaining international recognition, broadening Korean literature’s international market and attracting Korean readers once again.

  
  

  “Fandom” and “digging” (a phenomenon of deeply immersing oneself in a field) are also prominent in the field of reading books, and increasingly more readers seek out the works of their favorite authors or their next release. Kim Ho-yeon, delivered warm consolation with Uncanny Convenience Store Vol. 1 and 2 in 2022 and 2023, respectively, and he continued with his signature “Kim Ho-yeon genre” and the “emotional healing novel” trend, which is still going strong this year; with his new novel My Don Quixote , Kim ranked third on the bestseller list in the first half of this year.

  
  

  Here are the top 10 bestsellers!

  
  

  1. Yang Gui-ja, Contradiction

  2. Kim Ho-yeon, Uncanny Convenience Store

  3. Kim Ho-yeon, My Don Quixote

  4. Choi Eunyoung, Even in the dimmest light(Tentative name)

  5. Kim Mela et al., The 15th Anthology of Award-winning Young Authors 2024

  6. Jeong Hai-yeon, Flamingo's Places

  7. Kimbbang, The Best of Tomorrows

  8. Choi Jin-young’s Proof of Gu

  9. Lee Byungryul, Once in Love So Profound

  10. Kkoch-nim Lee, Taking a Bite Out of Summer

  
  

  
  

  Written by Lee Seung-yeon

  Lee Seung-yeon is a reporter for the Maeil Business Newspaper’s weekly magazine, City Life. Lee explores cultural and lifestyle trends and captures the world in a single issue every week.

  
  

  
  

  Translated by Joheun Lee

  Joheun Lee (Jo) is a literary translator from Korea. She was selected in the 2023 and 2024 Translation Academy Night Courses from LTI Korea, the American Literary Translators Association's inaugural Building Our Future workshop for emerging BIPOC translators, and the 2023-24 National Centre for Writing's Emerging Translator Mentorship for Korean-English translation.
  

  A long-time fan of K-pop and many other subcultures, she finds herself drawn to works on related topics and speculative fiction, especially by women and queer writers. A UX Designer by day, Jo now lives with her partner and three cats in Shanghai, China.
  

  

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  May-June New Releases: Sustaining, Connecting, Moving Forward

  지탱하고, 연결되어 결국 나아가는 우리를 위해, 5~6월 신간 도서입니다

  KLWAVE introduces international readers to various works of Korean literature. “New Releases” showcases works that have been published between May and June 2024, selected by Kyobo Book Centre as “Book of the Month” and by Aladin as “Magician’s Choice.”

  
  

  The Seoul International Book Fair was held over five days from June 26th to 30th. The event was reportedly a success, bringing 20,000 more visitors than last year.

  Among the visitors may have been those who came to the fair just to vainly show off themselves at the book fair on social media and didn’t read a single book they have purchased.

  However, thanks to those readers who are willing to purchase books in their own ways, books and literature still exist. That is how readers are connected through books, creating a new era of literary consumption.

  As we hope readers continue to firmly support and love Korean literature, we introduce some noteworthy new publications in May and June. There has been a wide variety of genres to choose from, enough to entertain both Korean and international readers.

  
  

  For those interested in the fantasy genre, the latest volume of the Children of the Rune series is now available. Volume 7 of the popular series that sold over 1.6 million copies in Korea depicts the story after Charlotte learns the secret of her birth. Shaker, a time-slipping fantasy highly anticipated overseas, is a story about repeated time travel that sends a message that doing one’s best here and now is what’s most important.

  
  

  There are also essays that will comfort those dealing with their own hardships in life. Kim Miok, who earned fame by recommending books on Facebook, wittily recounts her troubled life in The Tale of Miogi. Kim Hoon, the author of The Song of the Sword, published his new essay collection Wasted Years, reflecting on life and death at the age of eighty with his quintessential prose.

  
  

  Dazzling poetic proses ponder upon life with their refined language. An Heeyeon, the poet of What I Learned on the Summer Hill capturing the colors of summer, has released her fourth collection, Walking in the Carrot Field, and Kim Eunji of Summer Coat published Drinking Beer From a Giant Mug. There are also works that take us to the border between life and death. Hwang Tong-gyu’s Caught In the Spring Rain contains the realizations he gained as he continues his life in his old age. The calm yet dignified words of Cha Do-ha, who passed away at the age of twenty-four, are recorded in The Hand of the Future.

  
  

  In the third volume of the bestselling young-adult novel series Fifteen for the Five Hundredth Year, the story of Gaeul continues as she learns about love, friendship, and dreams in an exciting plot set in a unique world. Kkoch-nim Lee, the author of Killing Your Friend, a book beloved by young adults worldwide with its rights sold to eight countries, has completed the novel’s sequel to capture deepened characters after the first volume. The Seventh First Love by Jang Irang depicts a coming-of-age story about budding love and friendship, the two biggest universes that make up a teenager’s world.

  
  

  In his first short story collection, Two People’s International, Kim Kitae, one of the most sought-after new talents in the literary world at the moment, consoles those we often see around us with a dry yet affectionate tone. Choi Jin Young, a young female writer at the forefront of the Korean literary world and the author of To the Warm Horizon, faces various issues in our lives in her own language in Things to be Written, as she always has.

  
  

  Cho Yeeun of The New Seoul Park Jelly Massacre has published her latest novel, Fins in the Mouth. The story of young love set in a world combining the fables of mermaids and sirens is sad yet mesmerizing. Kim Jiyun of Yeonnam-Dong’s Smiley Laundromat, of which rights are sold to fourteen countries internationally, invites the readers again into the heartwarming and hearty world of See You Again.

  
  

  Translated by Joheun Lee joheunlee@gmail.com

  
  

  Joheun Lee (Jo) is a literary translator from Korea. She was selected in the 2023 and 2024 Translation Academy Night Courses from LTI Korea, the American Literary Translators Association's inaugural Building Our Future workshop for emerging BIPOC translators, and the 2023-24 National Centre for Writing's Emerging Translator Mentorship for Korean-English translation.

  A long-time fan of K-pop and many other subcultures, she finds herself drawn to works on related topics and speculative fiction, especially by women and queer writers. A UX Designer by day, Jo now lives with her partner and three cats in Shanghai, China.

  

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  Travel Sitting Down, Read Standing Up

  앉아서 하는 여행, 서서 하는 독서

  Novelist Jo Jung-rae once remarked, "Literature is a pathless path. It’s akin to crossing the sea in a mere skiff or the desert without a camel." This insight encapsulates a writer’s destiny and stance. Through their labor, we encounter works which help us, the readers, to navigate, cross seas, and traverse deserts. The esteemed writer also observed, "Reading is travelling while seated, and traveling is reading while standing." By reading Jo Jung-rae's works, such as The Taebaek Mountain Range, The Han River, and The Human Jungle, which span modern and contemporary Korean history, readers embark on an exploration of human nature. His narratives enable us to sense the past, comprehend the present, and envision the future, affirming that literature is indeed a journey for both the writer and the reader.

  
  

  Beyond these metaphors, most literary works are predicated on an actual 'journey.' The narrative spans the temporal and spatial distance between the protagonist's beginning and end. This journey encompasses joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure, with layovers at pain, defeat, overcoming, and reconciliation. From the oldest Western epic, The Odyssey, to recent works like The Silence of the Girls and A Thousand Ships, which herald modern women's 'Odyssey,' the essence remains unchanged. This goes without saying especially for works that directly deal with travel. We don’t read travel literature to gather information about travel destinations. On the road, we laugh, cry, stumble, roll around, and bump into things. In the end, we grow a little wiser, and either venture further out or make our way back home. When it comes to Korean travel literature, Yeonam Park Ji-won's Yeolha Diary should be mentioned first. This travelogue of China, once criticized by the king for its "decadent literary style," is renowned for its fresh knowledge, sensibility, and a new writing style, so much so that it instilled fear even in the sovereign. Such was the impact of this 1780s classic. Today, we introduce five twenty-first-century works for those new to Korean travel literature.

  
  

  Bicycle Tour, Kim Hoon

  Bicycle Tour is a collection of essays by novelist Kim Hoon, chronicling his cycling sojourns across Korea in the year 2000. At this juncture, Kim was past fifty, having debuted his first novel at forty-seven after transitioning from journalism. The essays traverse locales such as Dolsan Island in Yeosu, adorned with camellias and plum blossoms; Hangilam Temple; Mangwol-dong in Gwangju, site of the May 18 Movement; Seonamsa Temple in Suncheon, evoking the life of Seonam Zen Master; Jindo Island, the theater of Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s battles, later immortalized in Kim’s novel Song of the Sword; Yeongil Bay in Pohang, where industrious fishermen toil; and the Han River, Seoul’s vital artery. In each place, the landscapes, the individuals encountered, and the literary legacy of forebears converge. Through profound reflection, the mundane is rendered extraordinary. These places persist, awaiting the arrival of Kim’s readers.

  
  

  I Live Alone in Jeju and Can’t Hold My Drink, Lee Won-ha

  This vibrant and introspective poetry collection from 2020 is truly by, and for, the traveler. It's both whimsical and melancholic, set against the backdrop of Jeju, a Korean island cherished by international visitors. Lee, who relocated to Jeju, captures the undeniable truth that we are all travelers in the journey of life and touches the elusive hearts of these fellow travelers. "Living alone, I got to know myself through and through/…/ That's probably why I don't have a lover// My self has no end// When I see the many travelers of Jeju/ . . ./ I want to tell them/ to steer clear of this thing called love// The wind from Jeju has plucked all my feathers,/ Growth has no end." "With the sunset, he too will soon leave the island / And that's all there is and today is all there is/ That’s how everything always is" Can this charming familiar tone even be translated? May Jeju’s unique flavor shine through!

  
  

  From the House that Will Wash Away Someday, Jo Kyung-ran

  Novelist Jo Kyung-ran is approaching the thirtieth anniversary of her literary debut. This year, she has been honored with the Yi Sang Literary Award, one of Korea’s most prestigious literary prizes. Her 2018 short story collection, From the House that Will Wash Away Someday, delves into narratives of departure, featuring characters who step away from the familiar embrace of family and home. Among them is a woman seeking respite from monotony by immersing herself in an alien environment for a month as her fortieth birthday looms; a husband who on a visit to a friend in Japan who has lost his mother writes to his wife that he finds it difficult to return home to a marriage of twenty-five years; and a daughter, whose bus journeys and encounters in Rome offer solace from maternal conflict. The author asks us how a journey begins, or how it should begin. In a country like Korea, where family is central, posing a question such as this is a task, and finding an answer even more so. Jo Kyung-ran probes the inception of journeys, challenging the reader to consider how one embarks on a path divergent from societal norms, particularly in a culture where familial ties are paramount.

  
  

  So Many Summers, Kim Yeonsu

  In a literary landscape often illuminated by the voices of young woman writers, Kim Yeonsu’s presence is both rare and revered. His 2022 anthology, A Future as Ordinary as This, garnered acclaim as the "Book of the Year" from fifty of his contemporaries. The following year, he published So Many Summers, a collection of twenty stories originally written for occasions when he was invited to give book talks or lectures at bookstores and libraries nationwide—occasions he repurposed as book reading sessions. These stories were shaped by interactions with audiences in places like Seogwipo, Gimhae, and Changwon. The audience laughed and cried at moments the author hadn't anticipated. This influence is reflected in the story of Seo Ji-hee. After losing her child in a bus accident during a school trip to Gyeongju, Seo bravely travels to the city and eventually decides to settle there. In the city steeped in a millennium of history, bathed in the indifferent glow of the full moon and the bright laughter of others, Seo finds a place to finally grieve.

  
  

  The Morning Piano, Kim Jinyeong

  “There is no need to grieve. Grief is not meant for times like this.” “Anger and despair are like swords held backwards. They only wound me.” The Morning Piano (2018) is a prose collection written by Kim Jinyoung (1952–2018), who specialized in philosophy and aesthetics. The book chronicles his journey from the time he was diagnosed with cancer in July 2017 and continuing until three days before his death. If Roland Barthes' Mourning Diary, written after his mother's death, serves as a homage to her, Kim’s work is a prelude to the inevitable, a contemplation of life’s final act. His musings—on literature, music, philosophy, love, and existence—transcend the prose form, achieving a poetic resonance. Kim confronts his demise with serenity, declaring, “My heart is at ease,” as he approaches life’s denouement.

  
  

  Writings by Im Intack

  Im Intack covers literature at the Hankyoreh. A seasoned journalist, he joined the media company in 2003 and his tenure includes leadership roles in investigative planning and special content. A recipient of the Korea Journalist Award four times and the Kwanhun Club Journalism Award, Im’s contributions extend beyond journalism—he is a co-author of works like A Life Worth 4,000 Won and A Belated Record of Child Abuse. He wrote captions for the photo book Magnum Korea.

  

• Curation

  Queering the Norm: Marching Beyond Pride

  퀴어, 규범 바깥으로의 퍼레이드: '프라이드'를 넘어

  For the queer community, June is a month of celebration, commonly referred to as “Pride Month.” During this time, sexual minorities embrace their distinct identities and assert their “right to live true to themselves,” hosting lively celebrations worldwide. Rainbow flags flutter joyfully, and participants parade through the streets in outfits that best express their “genuine selves.” In a world where different gender identities or sexual preferences are often regarded as secrets, scandals, or issues belonging only to the domain of “private life,” openly displaying one’s true self in public space carries profound significance.

  
  

  However, the jubilance of the festivities does not last forever. In real life, sexual minorities face a complex and ambiguous mix of emotions, including pride and shame, pleasure and anger, as well as fear and anxiety. The methods they adopt to exist as “citizens,” or members of society, are also varied. Sometimes, they conform to the norms of mainstream society by hiding their non-normative sexual identities, while at other times, they resist being categorized as “minorities” by society and propose new ways of understanding and acceptance.

  
  

  Contemporary Korean queer literature vividly captures the diverse experiences of queer (non)citizens living in the “here and now.” It meticulously explores the complex relationships among sexual, class, generational, racial, linguistic, and geographical factors that influence “living true to oneself.” As a result, Korean queer literature becomes a compelling space for political and aesthetic experimentation, where diverse strategies to challenge rigid societal norms fiercely compete.

  
  

  Today's ceremony by Jo Woori, Wisdomhouse, 2023

  
  

  This is the latest work of Jo Woori, known for her keen exploration of the nuanced and intricate relationships among women. Set in present-day South Korea in 2023, the novel unfolds in a society where same-sex marriage remains unrecognized by law. As a form of protest, same-sex couples frequently submit marriage registration forms to local government offices, fully aware that they will not be processed. However, a significant turn of events occurs when Sunmi and Gayeong, two lesbian civil servants tasked with managing marriage registrations, clandestinely approve the marriage registration of an elderly lesbian couple who have shared their lives for decades, issuing them a marriage certificate. The work stands out for its lively imagination, actively envisioning a future where same-sex couples are legally recognized as families.

  
  

  Ghost Duet by Kim Hyeon, hanibook, 2023

  
  

  This is the first collection of short stories by Kim Hyeon, who has previously published poetry collections such as Glory Hole and Good Times. The stories are set against the backdrop of numerous deaths and losses that occurred in Korea after the 2010s, resulting from events including traumatic social disasters, rampant gentrification, and sluggish minority policies. In a world marked by pervasive hatred, discrimination, poverty, and isolation, the characters in Kim’s work often grapple with loneliness. Yet, they do not hesitate to indulge in drinking, joking, and causing a commotion. This reflects Kim’s distinctive approach to mourning and advocating for those perpetually marginalized in society.

  
  

  We're (Not) Just a Punchiline by Lee Eunyong, rightseason, 2023

  
  

  This is the sole compilation of plays by FTM transgender playwright Lee Eunyong, who passed away in February 2021. Lee’s characters effortlessly blur the rigid boundaries between male and female, heterosexual and homosexual, adult and minor, love and hate, and morally good and bad, turning them into open doors for free passage. The lives depicted in Lee’s plays, including those of transgender individuals, youth, and those with mental illness, might initially appear devastating, akin to an accident, or cruel, resembling a twisted joke. However, they ingeniously reshape a world that deems them “abnormal” into a poignant source of humor. The titular play, We Are (No) Jokes, was first staged in 2020 and won the Baeksang Arts Award for Best Play in 2021.

  
  

  The Things We Say While Waiting by Kim Byungwoon, Minumsa Publishing Group, 2022

  
  

  Kim Byungwoon’s debut novel, The Things We Say While Waiting, is densely packed with traces of his intense engagement with contemporary queer discourse. Kim boldly delves into and fearlessly intervenes in the most contentious topics of today, such as queer representation and agency, the dichotomy between exemplary and unruly queerness, as well as the hierarchy and visibility economy among queers. Kim’s work does not overlook the fact that both cisgender, heterosexual norms and the normative discourses surrounding homosexuality often dictate one’s actual life and desires. Ultimately, they intersect with the novelist’s self-reflection on what it means to “represent queerness.”

  
  

  We, in the Same Place by Park Seonwoo, jamobook, 2020

  
  

  In this compilation of stories, there are no “stereotypically gay” characters. Instead, the author focuses on individuals whose minds waver and hesitate as they struggle to come to terms with their sexual identity or to reveal it to others. The novel doesn’t hastily assign emotions like hesitation, disillusionment, and inadequacy exclusively to “closeted gays” or “denial gays.” Instead, it astutely captures how these ambivalent and tentative emotions contribute to their queerness. Amidst the flow of contemporary queer literature celebrating proud queer identities, these aspects are what set Park Seonwoo’s novel apart.

  
  

  Written by Oh Hyejin

  
  

  A literary critic devoted to analyzing and historicizing the gender politics within narrative, symbolism, and discourse. She authored the cultural critique collection Utterly Literary Tastes and contributed as an author to works such as From Room 19, The Birth of the Researcher, Fantasy Without Origin, Literature Breaking Literature, Time in the Reservoir: Reading Yeom Sangseop, and History Has Failed Us, but No Matter.

  
  

  Translated by Kim Soyoung

  
  

  Soyoung is a translator specializing in literature and film. After a decade of corporate life in public relations, she now immerses in translating works that resonate with her.

  Her recent translations include stage plays Sunlight Shower and This is Home by Jang Woojae, and she is currently translating a novel for young adults.

  Soyoung majored in English interpretation and translation at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies and studied business administration at the Graduate School of International Studies at Yonsei University. She completed a two-year government-funded literary translation course at the Literature Translation Institute of Korea (LTI Korea).

  Soyoung won Grand Prize in the film category of the Media Translation Contest organized by LTI Korea in 2021.

  

• Curation

  March-April New Releases: Journeys into the Depths of the Human Psyche

  깊은 내면으로의 탐험을 담은 3~4월 신간 도서입니다.

  KLWAVE introduces international readers to various works of Korean literature. “New Releases” showcases works that have been published between March and April 2024, selected by Kyobo Book Centre as “Book of the Month” and by Aladin as “Magician’s Choice.”

  
  

  Life is full of vulnerability and insecurity. Even amid loneliness and despair, however, there are things that make us keep going such as love and redemption – which are well reflected tenaciously in the new works of March and April. They have the power to draw everything in, even including boredom which makes everything meaningless.

  Newly released works of March and April include books translated from various languages, some by authors familiar to international readers, and others by poets and novelists whose names may be unfamiliar.

  
  

  Lee Byungryul, Once in Love So Profound, Moonji Publishing Co., 2024

  A reminder of the power to love again in a time when love is feared: in To Have Loved Someone So Much, the author Lee Byungryul talks about love, a common but extraordinary emotion, as honestly and steadfastly as ever. This collection of poetry is poems of love that will speak to anyone who has “ever loved someone so much.”

  
  

  Park Yeonjun, Go See If Love Is Dead, Munhakdongne Publishing Corp., 2024

  A hidden gem of Korean literature, Park Yeonjun of Summer and Ruby has published her fifth collection of poetry. Upon hearing the request to “go see if love has died,” (“Pheonix”) would “Cobblestone” have been more afraid that love has died, or confirming the fact that love has indeed died? Park’s new work which commemorates the 20th anniversary of her debut, Go See If Love Is Dead portrays the emotions of “tossing and turning” as we live and love. She practices the belief that it is poetry’s job to look into the “small” world, and the poet’s responsibility to look further into the bigger world – quietly.

  
  

  Jo Kyung Ran, Kim Gi-tae, Park Min-jeong, Bak Solmay, Sung Hye-ryeong, and Choi Mi-rae, Foreword (2024 Yi Sang Literary Award), Munhak Sasang, 2024

  The grand prize for the 47th Yi Sang Literary Award was conferred to Jo Kyung Ran’s Illeodugi. Jo, who is also the author of Tongue published in 10 countries, said the story began with the question, “If there is a child who had to spend their life cowering after being born to parents who were not ready, and who had always been an object of contempt in the eyes of others, what kind of an adult would they grow up to be?”. In addition to the grand prize winner Illeodugi which depicts neighbors living on the outskirts of the city as they come to terms with each other, the collection also includes works by Kim Gi-tae, Park Min-jeong, Bak Solmay, Sung Hye-ryeong, and Choi Mi-rae.

  
  

  Kim Ho-yeon, My Don Quixote, Namubench, 2024

  Kim Ho-yeon of The Inconvenient Convenience Store, which has garnered much attention for being exported to 18 countries globally, has returned with My Don Quixote. Sol’s journey to find “Uncle Don” who used to run the video rental store “Don Quixote Video” in 2003 is not only a search for someone in the past, but also a search for Sol’s own future. The long adventure makes Sol believe Don Quixote’s words that dreams are more important than money – Sol’s journey will also resonate with readers.

  
  

  Choi Jin Young, Wondo, hanibook, 2024

  This book provides an opportunity to go back to the beginnings of the beloved Choi Jin Young universe with over 200,000 copies sold, including Proof of Gu and To the Warm Horizon. Choi’s Why Didn’t I Die? has been completely revised and published under its original title Wondo after 11 years. By following the life of “Wondo,” for whom death would be an obvious choice or may have been the better choice, readers eventually come to the question of “how to live.” The depiction of Wondo, who desperately blames oneself for not dying, makes readers ask themselves “why one should live” and “who it is that keeps living.”

  
  

  Translated by Si-Hyun Kim interpreter.sihyun@gmail.com
  

  
  

  Shannon is an interpreter and translator with expertise in a wide array of domains ranging from literature and popular culture to advanced technology. She has provided translations for various esteemed corporations and institutions, including NAVER Corp, SBS, LG Electronics, Samsung Electronics, and HUFS GSIAS.
  

  

• Curation

  Labor Day Reads: Will Tomorrow's Sun Shine Upon Us Too?

  근로자의 날을 기념하며: 우리에게도 내일의 태양이 뜰까요?

  #Workers'_Day #May_Day

  The term “work-life balance,” which signifies the balance between work and life, is every worker’s dream. Who wouldn’t want a lifestyle where one can pursue work suited to their talents and skills, gain fulfillment and social recognition, lead a comfortable life fueled by the earned income, and have plenty of personal time for hobbies and personal growth? The reality, however, is often far from such ideals. Many workers find themselves stumbling through each day as the balance between work and life crumbles. Especially since the global rise of neoliberalism, which emphasizes labor flexibility, workers have grappled with constant employment insecurity, fierce competition, and the need to prioritize survival above all else.

  
  

  Yet, labor inherently holds undeniable value and meaning that cannot be denied or suppressed. In spite of being pushed to work for income, even amidst its arduous and burdensome nature which strains both body and mind, workers discover vitality and hope for a better tomorrow within their work. And Korean poets and novelists have actively engaged in capturing and depicting both the light and shadow of such labor.

  
  

  ---

  Reinvestigation by Chang Kangmyoung

  
  

  Chang Kangmyoung, a member of the literary group known as “salary realism,” co-authored an anthology titled Thank You for Your Efforts (2023) with fellow authors, focusing on the theme of today’s labor. In Chang’s short story collection, The Living, he vividly portrays the multifaceted economic and social realities drawing from his journalist background. Meanwhile, in his full-length novel Reinvestigation, Chang brings to the forefront detectives pursuing the perpetrator of an unsolved murder case from 22 years ago. Given the author’s background as a journalist, the meticulously researched novel realistically depicts the working methods of homicide detectives. Similar to any other working individual, even in the face of demanding work and performance pressure, the characters in the story support each other as they strive toward their goals. Turning the pages, readers are immersed in the world of detectives, a realm otherwise foreign to most.

  
  

  Duck Dive by Lee Hyeonseok

  
  

  Lee Hyeonseok is a writer and practicing physician whose first short story collection, Even in Another World (2021) features works that reflect his medical background. Lee’s first full-length novel, Duck Dive, is set in a Korean surfing camp in Bali, with the main characters being women who formerly worked as nurses in Korea. One character is a victim of the harassment culture prevalent among nurses in Korea, known as taeum, which literally translates to “burn” and has recently emerged as a social issue. The other character is someone who, to some extent, condoned or even participated in such harassment. While the surface narrative revolves around surfing lessons, the novel critically examines and reflects on the abusive practices embodied by the taeum culture, and illustrates journey of the main characters as they navigate through these challenges and move forward together.

  
  

  Kang Jeongmin The Juice Delivery Woman by Kim Hyeonjin

  
  

  This novel was inspired by the author’s own experience of working as a juice delivery person for nearly two years. The protagonist, Kang Jeongmin, is not directly employed by the juice company she works for: she is a contracted salesperson receiving commission. As a female worker, she faces various forms of mistreatment such as bullying, sexual harassment, and humiliation from clients, on top of the unstable income due to her precarious status. While alcohol serves as her sole escape from troubles and frustrations, she clings to her dream of becoming a webtoon artist and finds strength in supportive friends, persevering through each day without succumbing to despair. Young readers of this era, leading lives not so different from Kang Jeongmin’s, will find themselves rooting for the character as they read, and in doing so, may also find strength and encouragement for their own lives.

  
  

  Lee Nanyeong The Future Lawyer by Kwon Yusu

  
  

  In 2077, as people increasingly favor android lawyers over their human counterparts, protagonist Lee Nanyeong boldly confronts AI lawyers. This novel delves into the tumultuous trials faced by the main character, whose rural twang and shabby office do little to bolster her credibility. While she battles an android lawyer in court on behalf of a client advocating against selective memory erasure surgery, as a mother, she grapples with intense conflict over her daughter Morae’s dream to upload her consciousness to the cloud to escape physical pain. Lee Nanyeong, self-proclaimed as a technophobe—and acknowledged as such by others—endeavors to explore the possibilities of infusing human “hearts” into androids, both in her professional and personal life.

  
  

  Work Log by Lee Yonghun

  
  

  This poetry collection serves as a field report on the instability of employment and labor in this era. Various labor scenes, reflecting the poet’s own experiences, such as demolition work for redevelopment, apartment construction, terminal cargo handling, sewage cleaning, care for patients in closed wards, and motel cleaning, appear somewhat distant from a sense of dignity or fulfillment. Instead, these sites are fraught with the risk of injury and death caused by accidents. These are the sites shunned by Koreans, and nowadays largely occupied by migrant workers—a reality faithfully portrayed in Work Log. Unlike the vociferous labor poems of the 1980s, this collection resonates deeply simply by presenting the unembellished truth of reality.

  
  

  Written by Choi Jaebong

  
  

  Choi worked as a literary journalist at the Hankyoreh newspaper from 1992 to 2022. He has written books such as Inquiry: How Writers Work, Stories Live Long, Writers of the Mirror World, and translated works such as Elegy for Earth, Pushcart’s Complete Rotten Reviews, and Journey to the beginning (Egar Snow’s memoir). After retiring in 2022, he has been working as a freelance senior journalist, writing articles on literature and publishing.

  
  

  Translated by Kim Soyoung

  
  

  Soyoung is a translator specializing in literature and film. After a decade of corporate life in public relations, she now immerses in translating works that resonate with her.Her recent translations include stage plays Sunlight Shower and This is Home by Jang Woojae, and she is currently translating a novel for young adults.Soyoung majored in English interpretation and translation at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies and studied business administration at the Graduate School of International Studies at Yonsei University. She completed a two-year government-funded literary translation course at the Literature Translation Institute of Korea (LTI Korea).Soyoung won Grand Prize in the film category of the Media Translation Contest organized by LTI Korea in 2021.

  

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